First Casualties of War
by Cashala
Summary: When hard times hit his family, Scout decided to do something about it. Having never even left Boston previously, how is he going to survive hundreds if not thousands of miles away in the middle of a war zone with crazy people running around?
1. Newbie

_So here I am after fifty bajillion years of not writing fanfics. This one is going to be rather long, as I have several parts brainstormed, but not concretely planned. I want to have fun with this story; plot holes will probably abound. Suggestions, reviews, and pointing out obvious mistakes are love._

_In this story, much of TF2's quirks are kept alive. However, in this they are aware of the fact that this is, in fact, a television show. Contracts are given out in one-year terms, but you can sign on for several of them for a larger pay. For now, none of their names will be revealed, but eventually, I promise c:_

_Also, there will be gay. Eventually. You have been warned._

**Newbie**

Hours after leaving his family behind in Boston, a lanky young man in a blue t-shirt and brown pants sat in the same seat as he had the entire journey, a bag as new as the scratchy clothes on his back at his tennis shoe clad feet. Staring down at his shiny dogtags, he played with them absentmindedly. Truth be told, if this were for any other occasion, he'd be bouncing around the boxcar, talking the ear off of the only other passenger left on the train. Instead he was reduced to fidgeting idly, mind occasionally snapping back to his mother's tearful goodbye and the source of an unfamiliar ache in his chest. He wasn't used to being away from his family, or even his hometown for that matter, so this - _this_ was a new experience altogether. But it was for good pay, and there was no real risk. That line in his contract about fatalities had been some legal junk, after all. Right?

The conductor's voice broke him out of his reverie, announcing in an oddly happy tone that they had arrived at the final destination. With a sigh he stood, failing to notice a red laser ambling along behind him as he stooped to first sling his bag over his shoulder and then pick up his blue baseball cap. Resting the item haphazardly on top of his light brown hair, he got off the train, smiling at the scenery.

A river divided the landscape in front of him in half, coming from over a cliff several hundred feet tall and tumbling down into a basin. Three crossings stood in the path of the stream's moderate flow, two of them makeshift and falling apart at the seams. While much of the rest of the crater was covered in leaf and needle covered trees, blocking his view, he could still see two buildings - one red and one blue - in the distance, the top few floors all that were visible over the treetops. Other than a different coat of paint, he really couldn't see many differences between the two, but he just shook his head, stepping forward.

"This ain't so bad," he murmured, starting down the trail. Just before the path dipped down from the station to the treeline, however, he heard a distant crack. Before he even had time to process what had happened his hat was swept off his head in a rush of wind. Quickly grabbing it, he shoved it back on his head - only to yelp in surprise when his fingers found not one but two holes through the material. Two seconds off the train and he'd nearly been killed. Perfect.

Realizing that standing around was probably _not_ a good idea, the newest recruit of the BLU team, Crater division jogged down the beaten dirt path, only noting slightly that it was meandering off to the left. Deciding now was a good a time as any to switch his headset on, he slipped it over his ear.

"Doktor, Pyro is being mean again," someone - his voice deep with an obvious Russian accent - whined over his headset.

"Now, Herr Pyro, be nice. Heafy, you haff to start sticking up for yourself, alright?" scolded a German man gently. The next several words came out incredibly garbled and the young man blinked, taking his headset off to inspect it. When a third legible person talked - or, rather, yelled - he was _very_ glad that he had done so.

"QUIET DOWN YOU MAGGOTS, THIS LINE IS FOR BATTLE USE ONLY, SO IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE LITTLE GIRLS RUNNING TO MOMMY DO IT ON YOUR OWN DIME," he hollered. Several tinny sounds followed in short, rapid succession, and the Bostonian thought it best to turn off the device. He'd have plenty of time to get deafened later. Three years' worth of time, at least.

Half an hour later, the BLU Scout had slowed to a walk, looking around curiously. He'd come across a meadow or two already, and he was honestly starting to wonder if he was going in circles because it was taking him so long to get to the fort. Sure, it's not like he could see any defining characteristics - a tree's a tree and a rock's a rock to a city boy - but it was starting to occur to him that either a, he was lost; or b, this place was so huge that it was going to be an absolute bitch to find anything. While both prospects were unappealing, he had to admit that they could possibly both be true right about now. But only possibly. After wandering around a few hours more, he cursed, kicking at a nearby tree - and looking incredibly surprised when the trunk simply caved in.

That was when he heard the buzzing.

It only took a few moments for his brain to register that the sticky mess coating his shoe was honey, and another second passed before a sting to his leg made him spring into action, running full-speed to get away from the swarm. Jumping onto the trunk of a downed tree, he easily leaped up onto the mossy embankment overhead. However, what he hadn't anticipated was there being a very, very steep drop not two feet from where he landed. Unable to skid to a stop due to his speed or jump due to his footing, he instead simply fell, cracking his head on the way down. Dazed, he could barely make out what was up and what was down as his brain processed something - hitting _anything_, even the water at the bottom of this ravine, was not good from such a height. Even if he didn't die on impact, he'd get knocked out, meaning he would drown. His clear blue eyes slipped shut as his head fell back, barely able to hold onto consciousness as it was as the wind whipped at his hair, tearing at his clothing and sending his cap downstream ahead of him.

_Ted's never gonna let me live this down … killed without even stepping on the field … Hell, none of 'em are …_ he thought. Just as quickly, however, he realized with a jolt that he wouldn't be able to hear their teasing. He'd never hear them again. You can't hear or see or touch or smell or taste anything when you're dead.

The sudden spike of adrenaline at this realization gave him the resolve to grab out at a rapidly approaching branch, his arm snapping as easily as a twig. Biting back a scream, he only barely noticed that the branch, while scraping the crap out of him as well as breaking his arm, had slowed him down. Unfortunately for him it wasn't by enough for him to stay conscious.

The first thing Scout realized upon waking up was that he hurt all over. The second thing he noticed - a thing that made him appreciate the first thing - was that he was alive. However, he very nearly had a heart attack as the red and black blob hovering over him solidified into an alien in a spacesuit.

Screaming, he bolted upright, injuries forgotten as he scrambled away from the creature, falling face-first into a shallow stream of water. Spluttering, he quickly stood on shaky legs, stopping when it dawned on him that the creature was _laughing_ at him. Turning abruptly, he went over to the faintly human-shaped thing and punched it in the nose. It quickly grabbed at its face, making exclamations of pain and shouting, voice muffled, "Whrt wrs zt fr?"

" … huh?" he asked blankly. Suddenly he was aware of some more laughing from the other bank not ten feet away. Turning with a glare, he saw a motley crew gathered there, their attire matching his in colour. Blinking in confusion, he looked back at the poor person he had socked square in the face, looking sheepish.

"Look, buddy, I dint mean no harm -"

The wind was abruptly knocked out of him as the RED Pyro punched him in the face just as he had, though with a tad more skill. Tumbling back, he somehow skidded all the way to his team's side of the map, only able to recover for a moment before his belongings were tossed over, hitting him square in the stomach. Gasping and wheezing, he could only barely hear the Pyro muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "asshole" before turning and leaving.

After a moment of getting his bearings, Scout got to his feet, wincing as his arm shot a twinge of pain directly to the base of his skull. When he looked down at it he was surprised to realize that it wasn't broken any more. In fact, all that remained were a few scratches and several bruises littered all over his body. Turning around in a slow circle in an attempt to look himself over, he completely forgot about the others until one of them - a man wearing a hardhat - coughed into his closed fist. Blinking, Scout looked at them, a small grin spreading across his face.

"Heya, fellas. How's it goin'?"


	2. Tour de Fort

_I want to make this map. Anyways, this chapter is for my first subscriber, Litzana! I'm really, really glad that you like my fic :3_

_Also, a note about the scheduling - this will be posted once a week each Saturday, with a bonus chapter like this one every so often. One I'm up to three subscribers and two reviews, I'll add another one ahead of schedule! Simple, huh?_

_Also, in mention to the BLU Spy: he can speak English rather well, so his small I's are just barely pronounced as long e's. For that reason, I have not found it necessary to add this part of his accent. Besides, it looks funny!_

_Well, happy reading!_

**Tour de Fort**

The man who had coughed gave him a slightly strained smile. "Ya gave us quite a scare," he said as he rested his hands atop his bulky tool belt, his accent Texan. Scout laughed, running a hand through his hair.

"Who, me? Naw," he said. Then, belatedly wincing at the pain caused from raising his arm, he let it drop slowly to his side, only to be quickly approached by a middle aged man with slightly greying hair already peering at him with uncanny - though not menacing - scrutiny. As the older man walked around him, white lab coat trailing out behind him, Scout barely resisted the urge to follow him. Curious as he was about this man, he couldn't help but notice the medical crosses on his clothing. Hoping to make small talk to break the awkward silence, he said, "So, uh. You the doctor or somethin'?"

"He is Medic! Medic make vounds go avay," said the largest man in the clearing in front of the fort, a sandwich in one hand and a gun in the other. Scout honestly couldn't tell which one the gargantuan seemed to value more. As the newly-introduced Medic raised an eyebrow at the large man he let out a sheepish laugh; quietly, as if he couldn't be heard by Medic even though the man was right beside him, he said to Scout, "Doktor does not like being interrupted in his examinations."

"Indeed, Heafy," said the Medic, pulling out the large cannon-like device previously strapped to his back. Aiming it at Scout, he turned it on, the sound it made upon start up causing the Bostonian to jump a bit.

"Uh … what's with the weird gun thing pointed at me?" Scout asked, pointing at it.

"It's a medigun, son," said the hard-hat wearing man, crossing his arms. "Anyways, I guess we should get introductions over and done with. We ain't all here, but we got worried 'bout ya when we saw the train leave so we started a search party. Who'da thought that you'd end up on our doorstep?" he chuckled, shaking his head.

Scout grinned. "I am just that freakin' awesome. Name's Ca-"

"Nein! No names," Medic hissed, tone hushed. Blinking, Scout gave him a nervous smile.

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. Right. I never watched this show, so -"

"I am Medic," interrupted Medic once again. Nodding to the Texan, he said, "Dat is Engineer. Ve call him Engie, dough. And man smiling like a lunatic is Heafy." Scout returned the wave Heavy gave him with a slightly blank stare that quickly turned into a grin as he realized he was moving his arm without pain.

"Hell yes! Thanks, doc," the baseball enthusiast hollered, clapping Medic on a back so hard that the German gave a strained but sincere smile, pushing up his glasses with one finger. As Heavy stepped forward, growling protectively, he stopped short of beating Scout to death with his machinegun only because of a rather cranky looking man dressed in blue military clothing and hauling a shovel burst into the clearing.

"I couldn't find the maggot anywhere!" he hollered. Scout immediately recognized his voice, wincing slightly. Another figure, this one walking along calmly in a blue pinstripe suit and mask, stood slightly behind the new man to inspect his glove-covered nails, his other hand behind his back. "Let's go back inside and order us a new Scout." About to turn on his heel, the helmeted man was stopped by the gentleman behind him tapping him on the shoulder and clearing his throat. "What now, Spy?" he barked.

"Ze young man in question is right here, Soldier," Spy replied, already calmly wiping his face clean of the other man's spit.

"Well why didn't you say so!"

Engineer let out a little laugh. "We tried ta, actually, but y'must've busted your headset with your shovel-banging again," he said, smiling honestly. The Soldier let out an indignant huff but remained silent, instead marching off into the fort.

"Bonjour, Scout," said a voice beside him, causing him to jump. The Spy chuckled at his reaction, extending a hand. "I am ze Spy."

"Uh … yeah. I heard," Scout replied, cautiously extending his hand. The Frenchman gave it a courteous shake before turning to the others.

"As it is my turn to show ze newcomer around, might I suggest you zree go back to what you were doing during our leettle break?" Apparently extremely happy at this, Heavy quickly grabbed Medic.

"Come, doktor! Ve go inside now, finish making sandviches!" The Spy was the only one who remained stoic at the sight of the Russian basically dragging the German inside, Engineer cracking a grin before waving a farewell to them and following the other two at a much more leisurely pace.

"Well," the Spy said as Scout picked up his surprisingly dry bag. "I can tell by your reactions to everyone zat you did not read ze manual, correct?"

"Zemanu- oh, the manual? Nah. Who needs that crap?" he asked, falling in step beside the long-legged infiltrator. Missing the Spy rolling his eyes, he continued, "I mean, there's a briefcase in their base, there's a briefcase in our base, we steal theirs we protect ours. Simple."

"I am afraid it isn't as cut and dry as that," he said. "It isn't simply to familiarize you wiz our team. It is for you to learn our opposition as well, not to mention the effects our equipment have on each ozzer. I suggest you read it tonight after I've shown you to your room." At the loud growl Scout's stomach gave as they entered the kitchen, he added, "And you've had somezing to eat." As Scout reached out for an errant sandwich sitting on the counter, its cousins all on the butcher's block several feet away, the Spy slapped his hand away. "Not zose. Heavy does not like people messing wiz his food. At all. You have been warned." As he led the way, Scout followed, sucking his smarting fingers and looking around.

The large, open-concept room was outfitted to be a kitchen, dining room, meeting room, and living room all in one. Windows welcomed in the scenery outside, making the already spacious room look vast. Opposite the rather small kitchen was one end of an almost ridiculously long metal table, thin blue cushions adorning the matching benches on either side. A projector suspended from the ceiling window frames aimed at the solid wall at its closer end. Starting at the counter, blue-grey carpet spread to the opposite wall, a large white sectional partially cut off from view fitting easily in the space with a coffee table nestled in between the three pieces. Another projector hung down, this one obviously for entertainment rather than briefings as a movie was playing, the lone audience member snoozing with a newspaper over his head.

"Zis -" Spy grabbed the newspaper smartly, causing the man sleeping there to jump up - "- is Pyro. You were supposed to go and search for ze missing Scout wiz ze rest of us, Pyro." When the brunette merely groaned and rolled over the Frenchman merely rolled his eyes, turning to Scout. "I get ze feeling zat he and Demoman were drinking togezer last night. In any case, let's show you everything else." Pointing to a door leading from the living room on the wall opposite the dining area, he said, "Zat leads to ze battle zone. When ze match is on, everyzing in here goes in into a lockdown state, meaning no one gets in or out. I don't suggest you try and skip a battle, however."

Leaving his warning at that, Spy brought him through another door into a stairwell. Starting up them, he explained, "Zis stairwell leads up and down. Downstairs are Engineer's rooms. Seeing how twitchy you are, I don't zink zat he would appreciate you running around his contraptions as you would inevitably blow up the entire fort." Deciding not to take offence to that, Scout just grinned.

"So. Where's my room? Do I get a whole floor like Engie?" he asked, obviously excited. At Spy's shaking head he deflated, but not to a level of cheeriness most would consider normal. As they entered an open hallway, the Spy continued his tour.

"Zis level is reserved for Medic and Heavy. Ze infirmary is just on the other side of ze wall and ze locker room is zere as well. Once again, it is locked off from ze living area during battle, but you can access it from here at any time."

The next floor contained three rooms - one for Demoman, another for the Pyro he had met downstairs, and the last for the Soldier. As they ascended to the next floor, which contained a near three-sixty panoramic view, Scout could almost swear he heard a drunken Scotsman yelling profanities but was quickly distracted by Spy announcing that the room on the right was his.

"Awesome!" he said, quickly barging in and tossing his bag on the bed. Slightly annoyed but amused at the same time, Spy followed, hanging back in the door as Scout let out a woot and bounced onto his freshly made bed. Grinning, he said, "This place is so cool!"

"I razzer hope you won't be zis loud all ze time. Boz I and our neighbour, ze Sniper, do not appreciate it."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. I'll be quiet as a mouse, promise."

"Alright zen. Your manual is in ze desk, and ze kitchen is open all ze time, zough you'll have to make your own food since dinner has already gone by. Ze next match is tomorrow, so rest up. If you need me, I'll be right next door." With that, he left, Scout rushing to the door to say a quick thank you. However, the hallway was empty. Frowning, he closed his door, unpacking the few possessions he brought with him. Among the items were a jersey from his baseball team, a glove, a bat, and a ball, but the item he put so carefully on his nightstand - the one he'd look at every night before going to bed to remind him why he was doing this - was definitely the most precious. Smiling back at the faces of his family, he opened the drawer below them and took out the manual, flipping to the first page as he flopped back onto his bed, head propped comfortably on his pillow.


	3. Machine Nation

_Yet another chapter, yet another foreword. I've concluded that - for NaNoWriMo, which I will be participating in this year - I will have to make a buffer of at least six chapters beforehand. This isn't one of them, for it is a scheduled release, but once November hits that's what you'll be getting - buffer. At least it isn't filler, right?_

_Anyways, this chapter is mostly about character development. Scout will be meeting each of his team mates sooner or later and, being the curious and friendly guy that he is, he'll try his damnedest to make friends of his allies. This chapter sees a bit of action, by the way :3_

_PS, any melee can knock off a sapper in this fic! I find it silly that you can't do the same ingame, but oh well._

**Machine Nation**

It was shortly after midnight when Scout ventured out of his room, having fallen asleep whilst reading. If not for his stomach protesting loudly about the lack of food in it, he most likely would have slept until morning from the exhausting events of the day before. Remembering the Spy saying that the kitchen was available twenty-four seven, he made his way down to it, keeping as quiet as possible. He wasn't the smartest person in the world, but even with that and his ADHD he realized that waking his team mates in the middle of the night, especially before a game in the morning, was not a good way to harbour good will.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, he stuck to the walls, knowing that they would creak less from personal experience. All of those nights sneaking out of the house had more than one upside - he could damn near be a Spy if he had half the mind to. But he was getting off track, something his stomach reminded him with a particularly loud growl. Wondering what treasures lay in the fridge, he rounded the corner - and fell over a pair of legs sticking out of an appliance he didn't recognize. Landing with an oomph, he hit his elbow on the pale blue tile with enough force that an audible crack could be heard. The man whose legs he had tripped over - Engineer, Scout now realized as the Texan spoke - quickly got up and turned the Bostonian on his back, concern written all over the man's weathered face.

"Son? You alright, son? Scout, can ya hear me?" he asked urgently. When Scout blinked, focusing on him, he let out a sigh of relief, extending a hand to help the younger man up. Clapping him on the back gently, he said, "You gave me quite a scare there. Respawn isn't on when it's downtime, you know."

"Uh, yeah," Scout said, rubbing his aching elbow absentmindedly. Looking down at the contraption Engineer had been toying with, he went over to the fridge and opened it, getting out a jug of milk. "So, what're ya up to? Not that ya have t'answer if ya don't want to -"

Waving dismissively, Engineer started gathering up his tools, closing the machine's door when done. "It's called a dishwasher. Been working on it for a while, refining the mechanics and such. 'Fraid that I'm not the best with anything outside of weaponry, though." He chuckled, Scout nervously joining in as he bit into a cookie he had found stashed in a cupboard. Since it had no notes on it deeming it off-limits, he had eagerly taken them despite having any sort of chocolate or other sugar in his system was generally not a good idea. Switching the topic, Engineer went over to the fridge himself, taking out a bottle of water. "What're you doing up so late, Scout? I thought you'd be conked right out after all the excitement of your arrival."

Scout shrugged, having seen Engie's soft smile and realizing he meant nothing by it. "Fell asleep after the grand tour. I can never sleep when I'm hungry, so …"

"Perfectly understandable," the Texan nodded. After a few moments of silence, he asked, "If you're up for it, I could use some help tomorrow. You run around real quick, so I'd be able to send you to get me supplies for buildin'."

Scout nearly sighed in relief. Truth be told, he was nervous about going onto the field. About getting shot at and chased with flamethrowers and stabbed and who the Hell knew what else. Sure, he knew he'd be perfectly safe and sound once he died, but no number of school yard brawls could prepare him for plunging headfirst into something like this on his second day. Smiling at the kindly man, he nodded. "Yeah. I think that can be arranged."

The bald man smiled back. "Hang out in here. I'll get you a few minutes before the match starts, show you some maps and stuff while we're camping out. Sound good?" At the Scout's nod, he added, "Well, good night then. Try not to stay up too late. Fight's scheduled to start at six and end at ten."

The next morning, Scout wouldn't even be able to remember the trek back upstairs to his room.

Two hours into the match, Scout and Engineer had settled down in the open alcove just to the right of the main entrance. The occasional team mate - and enemy - ran by, but between the sentry, Engineer's shotgun, and the Sniper's ever-watchful eye from his nearby array of perches, things had gone by rather smoothly. Every so often, off in the distance, someone would should in pain or triumph, but Scout could almost tune all of it out.

Then he'd remember that, sooner rather than later, that'd be him. As much as he wanted to do his job, he also knew that he would be a prime target since he was new, albeit a fast one. Wanting to distract himself, he leaned back against the wall, perched on a Dispenser with his hands clasped behind his head. "Yo, Engineer - "

"Engie," the Texan corrected, cleaning his wrench set of grease and … other fluids.

" - Engie," he said, returning the man's nod. "Um … so, uh, how long've you been here?" The mechanic seemed to mull this over, wrench bumping up his hardhat as he rubbed his head with it.

"Well … I've been with the company since I was twenty-four … worked in development for a while, then transferred here to work on the respawn. Never left. I'd say 'bout twelve years playing, five at this particular fort." Nodding, looking off into the distance, he said, "Sounds 'bout right." Turning back to his tool set he asked, "How long you signed up for?"

"Three years." What his face didn't tell, his voice did - that those years were seeming longer by the second. When he looked up, he blinked, squinting at a space by the sentry. It looked like the light was bending ever so slightly -

"Spy's sappin' my sentry!" Engineer cried. Scout was barely able to jump up, bat at the ready, eyes darting around frantically as Engineer tried to knock the sapper off his level three weapon. A short-lived cry of pain made him look back at the man just in time to see his body slump forward, a knife wound staining the back of his blue shirt. Scout, despite his better judgement, immediately ran over to his downed comrade, not noticing the Spy slip a sapper onto the teleporter and dispenser in turn. Kneeling by the older man's corpse, eyes wide, he hesitantly went to turn him over, jumping when a crack rent the air. Stepping to the side out of instinct, he barely got out of the way before the body of a masked man - the RED's Spy, he realized - fell on top of Engineer's. Staring dumbfounded at the two draining corpses - one with a round wound going straight through his skull - it took several moments for the BLU's new recruit to snap out of it, a tirade of swears immediately assaulting his ears.

" … wanker! Knock the fucking sappers off! THE SAPPERS!" screamed the Sniper. "Use yer bat, ya nimrod!"

"Bat? Bat. Bat!" exclaimed the young Bostonian, picking up his fallen weapon and racing over to the sentry, which was rapidly shutting down. Pummelling the sapper, he made short work of it before getting to the teleporter and lastly the dispenser. While none of them had collapsed completely, it was clear from the sparks everything was giving off, scorching his arms and face, that they were teetering on the edge. Sighing in relief, he heavily sat down on the floor, haunted eyes going to the bodies in the middle of the room. Propping his arms on his raised knees, he stayed like that, not moving until long after the Announcer called the end of the match, Sniper shooting him a confused look but carrying on his way without a word.


	4. Batter Up

_Another chapter to write, some fluff to bring into the world - I do admit that I enjoy all rays of the spectrum, but fluff is just so … fluffy. It really holds a special place in my heart._

_Anyways, happy reading! And remember, two reviews (only one more needed!) and two more subscribers will make me post a chapter early while still retaining the schedule, so you'll get two chapters in a week!_

**Batter Up**

Not that long after the ceasefire sounded, many of the BLU team gathered in the kitchen. Relieved to see that Engineer was okay, Scout nearly hugged the man, but stopped at the last minute to clap him on the back instead.

"Y'should've seen me, man - I knocked those sap-thingies right off! Hardly dinged up your machines, either. Well, my bat hardly did, the Spy's crap did a real number on the-"

"Thank ya," Engineer said, tipping his hat to the young man. Returning the pat, he asked, "I didn't see ya in the respawn. Did you -"

"Huh? Me?" Scout asked, clearly surprised as his eyebrows nearly rocketed off of his face. Waving a hand dismissively, he said, "Naw. Snipes shouldn'ta wasted the bullet on the scumbag, I was gonna bonk him into next week -"

Heavy chuckled. "Little boy is amusing." Turning on him defensively, Scout fixed the mountain of a man with a glare.

"Oi, I don't really appreciate the condescension in yer tone!"

"Conde- damn, he used _two words_ in the _same sentence_ with four syllables," Sniper quipped, his cup of decaf coffee raising as if in salute. "Ya aren't as idiotic as I made ya out to be, mate."

"Now wait a minute -"

"Eferyone! Stop picking on de Scout, or no cookies!" Medic proclaimed. Even in an apron, the man could look menacing, especially when wielding a knife that he obviously knew how to use if the legions of diced and minced ingredients before him were any clue, never mind his medical degree. Despite not being amongst those threatened, Scout put up his hands and slowly backed away, only stopping when he ran into Demo, who drunkenly began to stagger in the other direction, only to fall over an invisible obstacle and land on his face, already snoring. Loudly.

It only took a matter of minutes for the team to disperse because, even if a knife-wielding surgeon didn't scare them, the wrath of Heavy from a lack of baked goods certainly did. Sniper left with a nod to Medic, Pyro settling down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. The Spy and the Engineer left together, bringing the discussion they had had over their meal down to the basement and the Texan's workshop. Soldier was the last to go, toting his beloved shovel after him.

Once the area was reasonably clear, Medic went back to preparing the ingredients, slapping away Heavy's hand more than once as the Russian giant tried to sneak a few bites. But this wasn't what brought an amused grin to the Scout's face - it was the fact that the Medic would pretend to not notice every so often when Heavy made a grab for a snack, hiding a grin at his friend's antics. Jumping up onto an unoccupied stretch of counter, Scout said, a bit loudly, "What're ya baking, Doc?"

Medic chuckled as he once again staved off the Heavy's attempts to get a quick snack. "Cookies. Heafy especially likes vuns vid chocolate and peanuts," he said, gesturing to the piles in front of him. As Scout nervously backed away, Medic gave him a reassuring smile. "Nein, dere are no nuts here. Vhat kind of a doctor vould I be if I didn't know vhat mein patients vere allergic to?" Scout laughed nervously, Heavy's face falling.

"No more peanuts?" he asked, looking immensely crestfallen.

"Y'can eat 'em, big guy, just - don't try to give them to me, alright?" the Bostonian said, smiling in an attempt to get the weapons specialist from looking like a kicked puppy. "Nothin' big happens, anyways."

"Except anaphylactic shock," Medic said, staring over the rims of his glasses at the Scout, tone serious. Scout waved the German off.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Seriously, though, I don't got it too bad. Just can't eat 'em."

"Poor little Scout," Heavy said mournfully. Not knowing what else to do, the Bostonian gave him a light punch on the arm. Unfortunately for him, Heavy saw this as an invitation for a bone-crushing hug. Gasping for air, he thought for sure he was a goner when Medic cleared his throat, prompting the giant to let him go. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"It's okay, big guy," he replied, voice strained. Laughter came from right behind him and he jerked his head to look, a glare at the ready. "Whaddaya think you're laughin' at -"

Still grinning, the Pyro managed to subside in his laughter long enough to explain, "Sorry. I was just thinking about one time he hugged me. I wasn't so lucky."

"It vas accident!" Heavy said defensively. Looking to Medic, he added with a grin, "I vas happy. Pyro save Doktor from Spy."

As if on cue, a cry came up from the basement. "Medic!" the Spy shouted, the call followed shortly by a rumbling explosion. Cursing, the Medic quickly took off his apron and, grabbing Heavy, said to the two young men, "Do not mess around in here." To Heavy, he said, "Come. You vill probably be needed to move someding." Without waiting for a reply, the German and Russian filed out of the kitchen and downstairs, Pyro watching with amusement.

"Wow. Nearly a whole day without anything blowing up down there. Must be a new record," he said, leaning against the counter behind his colleague.

"I'm startin' ta think my ma didn't want us watchin' this for a reason," Scout said, sliding off of the counter to laughter. Turning to Pyro, he glared, clenching his fists defensively. "What's so funny _now_, ya clown?"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry - it's just - you sat in flour," the Pyro said, grin still firmly fixed on his face as he pointed at the countertop which, true to his word, had a Scout-shaped impression in the flour there.

"Sonnuva -" he muttered, glancing back at the mess. Growling in frustration, he glared - half-heartedly - at Pyro, who was still cracking up. Then, in one fluid movement, he picked up a handful of flour and tossed it in the unsuspecting pyromaniac's face. There was absolute silence for a few moments, during which Scout got the feeling that maybe he shouldn't have pissed off someone who chased after people with fire for fun. Just before he decided to run, however, the Pyro let out another laugh and, grinning, lunged forward with floury ammo in hand to tackle the youngest member of BLU to the floor, who let out an indignant yelp as the baking supply found its way inside his shirt. Any and all attempts to talk on the part of either party were quickly stopped with a handful of flour in the face, and it was with his kitchen smeared with flour and the two youngest members of the group liberally dosed in the stuff from head to two, still kicking and laughing and wrestling on the tile floor. Completely unaware that they now had an audience, they continued to play fight, stopping only when the German cleared his throat loudly.

"_Vhat_ -" the Medic said, voice full of exasperation as he stood a few inches back from the flour-laden tiles, " - is _dis_?"

Looking at one another and then back to the Medic and the Heavy - who was trying his hardest to look angry but was clearly amused by the situation - both parties simply pointed at the other and said, in unison, "He started it!" Sighing, the doctor rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and upsetting his glasses as he muttered something in German. Letting Scout out of a headlock, Pyro was the first to rise, black hair now coated in white. Hauling his newfound friend up to his feet with a few residual snickers, Pyro said, "C'mon, Medic, it isn't _that_ big of a mess -"

"Out."

"But we -"

"Out!" shouted Medic, pointing at the door. Pyro and Scout exchanged a glance before shrugging and doing as they were told, barely holding back their laughter.

Once out of earshot, the two allowed themselves to succumb to their laughter, tumbling into the Pyro's room. While the room's owner sprawled out on the bed, the Scout sat down on the floor, rolling around as he tried - unsuccessfully - to curb his amusement. Heaving for breath, he finally settled down as Pyro crowed, "Did you see his _face_? Known him for five years - _five years _- and he _never_ pulled anything like that before!"

"Wait - what - you been here five years?" Scout asked, blinking up at the other BLU. The Pyro grinned.

"Add two years to that and you'll have it right. I've been here since I was seventeen," he said, grabbing a box from under his bed and picking out a bag of chips before kicking the box over to the Scout, who took one in turn.

"Huh. Really," Scout said. "Why th'Hell would ya even want to _stay_ here?" Leaning over the foot of his bed to grab a beer from the small fridge there, he offered one to the Scout. When he declined, the fire enthusiast sat back, the fridge door swinging shut by itself, breaking the slightly uneasy silence for a fraction of a second.

"Well … it's like this. Not everyone here is like Solly - this used to be the guy's property, did you know that? He didn't get a cent for it. Just demanded that he be allowed to 'participate'." The Pyro shook his head, laughing darkly. "No. Some of us, like me and Engie, basically got painted into a corner filled with a poison we didn't know was there." A few minutes of silence passed, during which Scout stood and paced over to the window, looking at the view. His eyes slowly drifted down from a slight change of blue in the slightly cloudy sky, a look of shock passing over his face as he realized what it was.

"Smoke! There's freakin' smoke comin' out of the forest!" Scout shouted, jabbing a finger. Pyro looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow, but indulged his newfound friend by sidling over to the window and looking out. After a moment, he let out a small laugh, leaning back against the wall, legs drawn up.

"That's just Sniper's campfire. He lives out there, in an RV," he said, Scout calming down just as quickly as he'd been riled up.

"What kinda loon lives outside when there's a perfectly good buildin' right there?" Scout asked, gesturing wildly in Sniper's general vicinity.

The Pyro gave a noncommittal shrug. Then, when even he began to feel uneasy about the ensuing silence, he brought up a different subject. "Hey, you free tonight?" When the Scout just looked at him, puzzled, the Pyro let out a small laugh. "I want to show you something. Isn't it a common courtesy to ask if someone has a previous engagement beforehand?"

"Uh … yeah, sure, I don't really have anythin' else to do," he replied, obviously still baffled. Pyro grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll come and get you around ten." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "You aren't afraid of heights. Are you?"

Late that night, the BLU Scout was almost wishing that he'd lied to his friend and said that he was afraid of heights. The sheer drop - guarded against by only a flimsy three-foot-high railing - was dizzying. But then he looked up - and saw what Pyro was looking up at, a look of peace on his face.

"Wow …" he gasped, not even a finger twitching as he stared up at the sky. It seemed close enough to touch and, though this was proved wrong when Scout reached out to touch the star-streaked night sky, the illusion persisted. Touching him lightly on the arm, Pyro directed his gaze to a swirl of brilliant white, blue, and orange, a soft smile grazing his lips as Scout plunked down to see it without running a risk of falling off the edge. Following suit with much more grace, Pyro leaned back, one arm propped behind his head as a pillow. After several more minutes lapsed, he asked, voice almost lost in the serene night, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Finally finding his voice, Scout nodded. "Yeah. Ya don't see this in the city. Like, at all."

Pyro cracked a smile at the awe in his friend's voice, glancing away from him to look back up. "There's no pollution here, that's why. From lights or anything," he explained.

"Cool."

With this final exchange, they fell into a comfortable silence that stretched late into the night.


	5. Walk Before You Run

_At the time of this being written, I have already planned four more chapters, as well as realizing a major arc. Once again, thank you for everything, and happy reading!_

**Walk Before You Run**

After waking up in his bedroom - something he had no recollection of doing yet again, which was making him a bit annoyed - Scout clomped down the stairs, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Yawning, he basically collapsed on one end of the bench and planted his face on the table, earning an amused smirk from Pyro and a disapproving glare from Soldier.

"Wake up, maggot! If you were in the war then you would be _dead_ by now!" Getting into Scout's personal space, he grabbed the young adult by the shoulders and shook him, not skipping a beat even when the Scout's forehead collided with his helmet, earning him a oval-shaped welt. "And you can bet your ass that I wouldn't run around picking up the million pieces of your shattered body to send home, either!" Scout pushed him off, waving a hand in front of his face as Soldier quivered in front of him, panting.

"Jeez - suck a breath mint or somethin', Captain America! Yer breath _stinks_!" Engineer turned, busying himself with the coffee machine, as a grin spread over his face. Sniper returned to the paper he had finished reading a few minutes ago, Demo chuckling into his bottle as Pyro let out a laugh, covering it up with a cough when Soldier turned on him. Further harassment was diverted, however, by the Medic's hasty interruption.

"Herr Soldier -" Medic began, but was quickly cut off.

"Don't you be using your Nazi talk on me, mister!" the more than slightly depraved patriot barked. Swallowing visibly, the Medic gave him a shaky smile, Heavy looking up from making a Sandvich to growl at Soldier much like a dog ready to protect someone dear to it. He slowly calmed down as Medic placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but the Russian didn't return to his work, preferring to fix his steely grey gaze on Soldier. Clearing his throat, Medic started over again.

"Soldier. I vould appreciate de help of Scout today on de battlefield, for use in relay and, vell, scouting. So, vid your permission -"

Soldier, despite having his eyes covered by his helmet, had been staring straight back at Heavy for the duration of this conversation. Cutting the Medic off with a dismissive wave of his hand, he yelled, "Go right ahead, maggot. But we'd better win or I'm holding you personally responsible!" With a jab of his finger on the tabletop to emphasize his words, Soldier turned to his meal and lapsed into relative silence, the team following suit in a companionable lull that even Scout had come to feel comfortable with.

"So …"

It was several hours and a lunch break later. After eating a Sandvich graciously offered to him by the gentle giant of the team, Scout started to break the silence, only to run straight into a warm, blue-clad cliff side. Poking his head around Heavy, he saw what had stopped them in their tracks - a huge nest of beeping, searching, death-incarnate level three sentries. They were so tightly clustered together that a red glare was cast off of them, making it impossible to determine their numbers. Grimly readjusting his grip on his bat, Scout made as if to step forward, Medic halting him.

"Nein. Ve vill go around. Vould you be so kind as to find us a new route, Herr Scout?" he asked, none of his usual politeness lacking. Unable to speak, Scout merely nodded and disappeared down a broad alley that slowly narrowed, walkways overhead blocking out the bright midday sun every so often. It was because of this that he didn't notice the lithe shadow following him - not until it dropped down on him, a flash of red pushing him into panic mode as he grabbed for his holstered gun. The enemy Scout quickly disarmed him, wrestling him back to the ground with a whoop.

"Ain't so tough now, huh?" he jeered, hooking his bat under Scout's chin and pulling up, causing him to choke. Scrabbling for something to knock his attacker off with, he happened across a rock. Twisting - thousands of childhood brawls with his siblings and schoolmates alike had taught him the limitations of his body as well as most other people's - he fought past the panic of oxygen deprivation and rammed the rock against his near-twin's head, catching him in the temple. Hazel eyes flew open, shock obvious in them, as it connected and he was thrown off the BLU Scout's back. Grabbing the RED's bat, Scout didn't even think before ramming it into the dazed RED's face, killing him. His knees giving out, Scout hacked for air on his hands and knees, unable to believe that he was _alive_ and still not realizing what, exactly, that meant for his attacker. Then he looked up and was confronted by the carnage he had caused.

Years of baseball had made the young Bostonian's swing incredibly strong, resulting in the utter decimation his would-be killer's skull suffered. Both hazel eyes had popped out, one smashed against the concrete wall. His jaw hung, mostly unscathed, from his head, brain matter oozing out of his ears and eye sockets. The only thing that kept his nose from serving the same purpose was the fact that is was destroyed in its entirely, the nostrils caved in.

Needless to say, he quickly lost his lunch.

Once his stomach was emptied he continued to dry-heave for a while, shivering violently from the sight. It didn't matter that he _knew_ that it would have been him, or that the Scout would be running around in less than a minute like nothing happened. He had still killed somebody with his bare hands.

A practiced killer high above in the lone Sniper's nest overseeing much of the network of alleys and halls connecting the two bases had no such qualms. Lining up his shot, he watched a red dot dance across his enemy's forehead for a moment before pulling the trigger, a loud crack quickly being followed by Scout's body slumping forward, eyes still horrified by what he'd done.

And how much he'd enjoyed it.

The sounds of arguing roused Scout from his deep slumber. Sitting up stiffly, he winced, a hand going to the back of his head. Feeling a lump there, he could vaguely remember stumbling out of respawn and into someone … panicking … and hitting his head. Blinking, he looked around - said person had, apparently, placed him on one of the benches rather than leaving him on the floor. However, another matter was much more pressing - like the sounds of several men in a heated discussion not so far away. With only a small amount of vertigo upon standing, he went towards the noise, massaging his scalp to relieve some of the pain he was experiencing.

" … he is a liability! Ze first kill he gets he keels over and gets 'imself killed!" Spy said, his accent beginning to come out in full force from his anger. Soldier, in an unusual turn of events, found himself agreeing.

"If the maggot can't pull his own weight, we have no use for him, and that's final!" The crack that ensued from the patriotic fanatic pounding his fist on the table had more than one person wincing.

Medic sighed, rubbing his eyes, glasses perched on top of his head. Bringing his hand to his chin in a fist, his other arm crossing his chest, he added, "He's young, and he's inexperienced. Dere are pros _and_ cons to keeping him."

"I zink he should stay. See if he is fast learner, da?" Heavy said. By now, Scout could see into the conference room and he blinked at the sight - Spy and Soldier sat at one end of the table to the left, Engineer, Pyro, and Heavy sitting across from them on the right. Medic, Demo, and Sniper sat between them, the former two with their backs to the doorway and to him. What amazed him most, however, was that Medic and Heavy were no where near each other - at least, in the terms he had come to associate with them. A good eight or nine feet separated them from each other, and their uneasiness was unclear - but so was their unwillingness to back down in their stances. The tension was almost palpable, and though Scout didn't know what it was Spy said, he could tell very easily what Pyro did.

"I have seniority, you French pansy-ass! You've been here half that time! Three against two, _we win_, we're keeping him!" he shouted. Spy rolled his eyes, opening his cigarette tin with a small sound of disgust.

"You only want to get in 'is pants and he's ze only one 'oo doesn't know it," he sneered.

"Jealous?" Pyro retorted sharply.

"Of what? Getting gonorrhea?"

With that, Pyro launched himself across the table, grabbing Spy by the throat and smashing his face into the unforgiving table before anyone even had the time to blink. Engineer barely managed to pull him back despite the fire starter's physical weakness. While the room erupted into chaos, Scout took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed - or so he thought, not feeling the gaze of Sniper tracking his movements. With a sigh, the gangly man stood and plucked his hat off the table, leaving the room quietly.

He found Scout upstairs about a half an hour later. The boy was on the roof, slugging baseballs into the darkness below. Unfortunately for both parties, the upset Bostonian failed to notice his team mate coming up the ladder and hit him in the midriff with a backswing, knocking the air out of him and nearly toppling the leggy man over the low railing. Dropping his beloved bat without a second thought, he grabbed the Australian and pulled, sitting down to get their centres of gravity in a more favourable place. Looking up at the other man sheepishly from their position side by side, Scout gave him a nervous smile. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't hear ya." Standing, he offered Sniper a hand to get up which the man accepted, though clearly not out of need.

"No harm, no foul," Sniper said, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the Scout. No point in worrying the lad when he was obviously already upset, right? Changing the subject, he added, "I saw ya leave the meeting in a right hurry, so, uh, I assume ya overheard some?"

Picking his bat back up, Scout threw a baseball in the air and hit it expertly, sending the white orb speeding off into the darkness. Sniper winced when he heard it crash into something far below. Cursing, Scout slightly adjusted his stance. "Fuckin' trees …" he muttered.

"Tha's the first time I heard ya swear in the month ya've been here, boy-o," Sniper pointed out, stance relaxed with his thumbs in his pockets. Scout shrugged.

"M'Ma taught us to behave better'n that." Another baseball was lost to the darkness, cracking foliage on its way down.

"Us? There's more'n one of ya twitchy blighters?" Sniper asked, Scout rolling his eyes.

"Eight. 'm the youngest." Sniper gave a low whistle. He wasn't the best at talking to people - years isolated in the Outback does that to a person, especially when they're antisocial to begin with. Any and all use he'd ever had for observing people was to learn their patterns to kill them efficiently. However, he knew Scout enough to know that talking helped the young American - and talk he did. The fact that Sniper could tell time from the passing of the stars didn't help alleviate his boredom in the next hour. He tuned back in just in time for the Scout to turn to the reason Sniper was actually there.

"Did anyone else see me? Leave, I mean," Scout clarified, sitting down once again, his last baseball in his hands. The rest now lay scattered all over the surrounding area. Sniper shook his head.

"I don't think so, no. They were pretty busy keepin' Pyro 'n Spy from killin' each other." Scout let out a relieved sigh. "But when I was tryin' to find ya I found out that they came pretty damn close. They're restin' up in the infirmary."

"Sonnuva - I'm going ta _kill_ that moron," Scout growled, standing up. Sniper gave him a slightly amused look.

"Somethin' tells me ya aren't talkin' about the guy who wants ta boot ya off the team." Scout rolled his shoulders, baseball bat skimming the ground as he grabbed it.

"He's gonna give himself a heart attack one-a these days. 'Sides, ain't that was friends are for, kicking each other's asses when they do something stupid?" Surprise crossed Sniper's face and Scout cocked an eyebrow at him in questioning.

"I … don't think that anyone's ever associated themselves with 'im like that. He isn't the easiest person ta get along with." Sniper easily gauged Scout's reaction - he hid his emotions poorly when he bothered to try, unlike the rest of the BLU team - and was surprised with the pure shock on his face. The boy had truly not noticed how Pyro acted towards the rest of the team.

"Don't see why. He's a nice enough guy. Even showed me this place," Scout said, hopping down the ladder. Sniper quickly followed, giving the room a cursory glance.

"Heh. Never liked stayin' in one place long," he explained. Turning to Scout, he added, "But that's beside the point. If you'll recall from the meetin', you'd've noticed that Spy and Solly weren't really happen with yer performance. But ya have more people on your side than not, so I wouldn't worry 'bout it. Just get over your jitters and you'll be fine." By now they had arrived at Scout's door, and the Bostonian paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh. Uh, thanks, I guess. For the advice. It ain't like ya stay dead or nothin', right? So why should I get worked up about … about killin' someone?"

Sniper gave him a deft nod. "Exactly. Well, night, then."

But, despite this reassurance, Scout was unable to shake the nightmares that haunted his dreams throughout the night.


	6. Burn Notice

_Well, turns out that this is going to be the last update in about a month. Sorry! But I never finished the other chapters before November, and since I'm going to be writing something else non-stop for that month, well … I'll make it up to you guys, I promise ;3_

**Burn Notice**

Scout only let out a deep breath of relief when artificial light embraced him in its glow, leaving behind the warm, dry air of the exposed corridors outside for the cool comfort of winding halls protected from the Sniper's roost high above. Heading underground, he followed the convenient signs posted in red pointing to the intelligence room. Turning the corner, he froze, hearing someone before he heard them. Raising his bat, he sighed when he saw that it was just his team mate in the midst of piles of debris from a destroyed sentry. Putting the weapon away, he turned his back to him, heading for the intel.

"Thanks, Pyro. Man, this briefcase is heavy - d'they have bricks in it or somethin'?" he asked, nearly falling over from the unexpected weight of the seemingly flimsy red briefcase as the alarm sounded. Stumbling backwards, he nearly fell over the body of the RED Engie, letting out a surprised sound before righting himself. Letting out a laugh, he turned around, glancing back at the burned corpse. "Not a way I wanna go. Whaddaya say we get out of he- oomph!"

Falling over another body, Scout groaned, kicking it away as he struggled to get up without letting go of the briefcase. Thinking better of it, he let go of it, the alarm abruptly cutting off. Brushing some dirt off of his shirt, he said, "You were pretty busy, weren't you?" Laughing, he caught a glimpse of the body he'd stumbled over this time, and froze.

It was the BLU Pyro. Which meant he had died. Which meant -

Barely dodging the instantly lethal backstab the RED Spy directed at him, the knife instead cleanly cut through his leg, the limb immediately giving out. Letting out a yelp born more of surprise than fear or pain, Scout quickly drew his scattergun and emptied his clip randomly, letting out a sigh of relief when the Spy's uncloaked body hit the ground. Hearing someone else entering the room, he quickly reloaded and shot without a second thought, a muffled cry of pain greeting him.

"Eat it, ya mute fricki-" Scout then registered the colour of the suit the individual he just shot was wearing, prompting him to pale. "OhmyGodPyro, I'm so sorry, I thought y'were someone else, the RED Spy jus' jumped me and he was pretending to be you -" A hand held up stopped his tirade and he sat back down heavily, Pyro taking off his mask with a wince.

"It's fine, it's fine. Been hit with worse. I don't think any of it really got through the suit," Pyro comforted him, sending seemingly random puffs of fire around the room. Scout watched, not commenting on this apparent tick of his friend's - he'd seen him do it before, and never questioned it - when a shout of pain brought his attention back to his fire-wielding team mate. His jaw dropped open when he saw the RED Spy uncloak, apparently against his will, and started to run off. Pyro, however, was having none of that and grabbed the man, punching him in the face. "That was for killing me," he said, pulling his axe off his back. Brandishing it with a wicked grin, he swung it up, the Spy staying in place rather than try to scamper off like a rat. "And _this_ is for trying to backstab my friend, you cowardly prick." Scout looked away just in time to miss seeing the Spy get split from head to the bottom of his ribcage, the barbed-wire covered axe gliding through him like butter. As it was, some of his enemy's blood splattered on him, and he recoiled with a sound of disgust.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" he asked, flicking some of the Frenchman's blood off his hand. The Pyro, however, was already busying himself with a first aid kit, half dragging it over to his friend before quickly prying it open. Inspecting the wound on Scout's leg, he grimaced.

"Shit. He cut your hamstring. This'll pinch a little." Scout barely had the question of what the Hell he was doing when he yelped, attempting to jerk away only to be held fast in place by Pyro's steady hands. Nearly hissing in pain, the Bostonian glared at his friend but remained silent for once as Pyro administered his treatment with surprising efficiency and care, even though Scout was sure he wouldn't feel a thing if his leg was cut off. That done, Pyro gently applied a patch onto his leg and hoisted him up despite his protests. "We can get out of here, with the intel, but we have to hurry." Pressing the communication button at his neck, he said, "Coming out with the intel. Scout's injured, though, so a quick dash won't cut it - we need cover."

"Ve vill meet you two at de exit. Don't vorry about deir Engineer or Soldier for a vhile." With that, the line went dead, and Pyro grabbed the briefcase, shoving it into Scout's hands.

"You carry that. I'll take care of anyone we come across." The distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked had the Scout swallowing but he nodded, glad that he was not on Pyro's bad side.

Not even once did they encounter another being in the tunnel, be they RED or BLU. However, while this had Scout more relaxed, Pyro was as tense as ever, switching to his flamethrower every once in a while to check for a lurking Spy. Laughing as they emerged into sunlight, Scout thumped his comrade on the back, relief obvious on his face. "Almost home free. Heavy and Medic said they'd meet us here, right?" he asked. When he got no response, he looked to Pyro, brows furrowed. "What're ya -"

"Now!" came a shout, followed immediately by the crack of a gun, the bullet ripping through Scout's shoulder. Then the world erupted into fire, metal, and concrete.

The noise disoriented them both as they were pushed apart, Scout straight into a baseball bat that sent him doubling over. Coughing up what he knew was not a healthy amount of blood, he collapsed to his knees, glancing up only in time to see the Scout he'd killed the day before grinning wickedly at him. "_I'm_ the Scout around here," he whispered, sending Scout reeling into the darkness that accompanied the moments before respawn.

Just a moment too late came the Heavy and Medic, the German hiding behind his much larger friend to protect himself. The enemy Scout was almost immediately torn to bits by Sasha, a chunk of _something_ hitting Pyro square in the face. But he was seeing red long, _long_ before that.

Glancing to the Medic's gun and noticing the sparks, he stalked forward, grabbing him by the front of his lab coat. "You," he snarled, a crazed expression in his eyes, "are going to Uber me. And we're going to drag out those cowardly sons of a bitch that did this. Do you understand me?" When the Medic just stared at him in shock, no doubt wondering if his medication had to be adjusted, he shook him violently and yelled, "Do you understand me?" The Medic gave him a strained smile and nodded as a rocket sailed overhead, an enemy Soldier flinging insults.

"Ja, let's go then," he said, switching his medigun's ray onto the pyromaniac, who was already busy checking his weapons. Glaring at the comparatively petite man, Heavy began to converse with Medic in a low voice, stopping when he held up his hand. "It'll be de most effective. Just gife us cofer fire." Reluctantly, Heavy backed down, grabbing some ammo to replenish his dwindled supply. The petulant look on his face was akin to that of a child denied his favourite toy, or a person unwillingly giving into his partner's wishes. They were ready to go a few moments later.

Rushing headlong into the fray, Medic could barely keep up with Pyro, used to slowing down considerably for his Russian comrade. Somehow, however, he stayed in range, springing the Uber with practiced ease.

The Demo and Soldier were camped out behind a wall, a sentry beeping opposite them. The sentry was able to give out half a beep in warning before it was smashed to smithereens by an enraged BLU wielding a blood-streaked axe. Grabbing for his bottle, the Scotsman sprang into action, only to have the glass weld to his hand with an expert blast from a flamethrower. Letting out a yell of anger that drowned out even the Soldier's, Pyro fried a hole through the American's stomach, the smell of charred flesh making Medic gag. Taking no notice of this, Pyro continued to burn, shoot, and hack at his two victims, stopping only when they were both jumbled bits and pieces. However, as he looked up, it was clear he was far from done. Jabbing a finger at the enemy Sniper's hideout, he snarled, "Are you gonna make this easy on the both of us, or are you going to piss me off even more by making me come to you?" Getting no response, he headed up, the Medic running back to his Heavy just in time to see the BLU Sniper climbing down the central nest's ladder, obvious worry on his face.

This worry was soon given merit as a scream, not unlike the BLU Sniper's own, tore through the air.

Pyro had quickly caught up to the Sniper. Luckily for the revenge-seeking psychopath, the Australian had sustained a leg injury from the stickies going off earlier. Unluckily for the Sniper, Pyro had immediately taken to tackling him to the ground. Ripping off one of his gloves as the lanky man struggled beneath him, he cruelly jabbed a finger into the raw wound. The Sniper's gasp of pain quickly turned into a sharp scream when the finger jabbed deeper and twisted, blood flowing freely from the gunshot wound once again. Leaving his victim writhing on the floor, Pyro kicked his rifle and SMG and tossed them out the window, easily blocking off the entrances. He wasn't about to let himself get disturbed by someone who didn't approve of what he had planned.

Peeling out of much of his uniform, Pyro took little time to prepare his little workspace. The dusty nest soon became a torture chamber, the efficiency with which he laid it out his instruments frightening. Knowing that it would be useless to just run, his victim had discretely grabbed his shiv, which his captor had apparently missed. Just as he was about to take the decidedly sane route out - respawn was still on, after all - the Pyro whirled on him, taking his wrist with a crippling grasp, fury plain in his eyes.

"Did you really think I'd let you off that easy?" he hissed, taking the blade from its owner's hand. The Sniper swallowed, eyes darting around from behind his yellow sunglasses as he tried to figure out a way to escape. His attention was diverted almost at once when the Pyro neatly parted his shirt with the shiv, blood barely welling up from the graze. "The other three - well, two, the RED Scout kind of got blown to bits - I don't hold as responsible. They got the express route out compared to what I'm going to do to you." Opening a black pocket knife, Sniper could only watch in detached horror as the blade inched closer and closer to him. He let out a loud scream when it was pushed, the movement torturously slow, down to its hilt. Musingly, a dark light in his eyes, Pyro said, "I'm not even off my meds, you know. But Scout … things seem to be a lot clearer when I'm thinking about him. He's new. He needs a good friend." Another cut was made, this one causing the Sniper to bite down on his tongue, drawing more of the crimson liquid his tormentor was hungry to see.

"I'm not completely insane, you know. I know that what I do is wrong. The thing is - I simply don't _give a flying fuck_." Turning to his flamethrower, he heated up the flat of his knife, watching it almost tenderly. Once it was sufficiently heated he pressed it to the wounds he had made, stopping some of the bleeding by cauterizing them. "However, I'm not completely without feelings for people. Scout made me realize that. He's … different from anyone else I've ever known. Innocent. Kind. Caring. Yet, he's also like me." Patting the Sniper's cheek to coax his eyes back into focus, he grinned cheekily at the taller man. "What, about done already? C'mon now, we haven't even started!"

Tracing flowing patterns into the Sniper's flesh, he continued, smirk widening at every wince and grunt of pain, "I can keep you alive indefinitely, you know. I've studied the human body rather extensively. Hell, even now I sneak a book from the BLU Medic. Don't want to get rusty, after all." Flipping the man onto his stomach, Pyro pressed his knee into the base of his spine, putting down all of his weight as he straddled his waist. Pulling off the Australian's vest and shirt with mocking care, he continued, "My Scout - you killed him, twice. The first time, I wasn't around to take action. Now I am."

Speaking for the first time since he'd been rushed, Sniper said, voice only slightly strained despite his various wounds, "_My_ Scout? Didn't know you swung that way, mate."

"I don't, necessarily. Like I said, he reminds me of me. When I was younger. Just … with a conscience." More skilled cuts were made, some scoring deeper than others but each more painful than the last. Leaning forward, the knife digging harshly into his victim's ribs, he whispered, "I'll see you again later. Our time's about up." Just nicking the other man's lung, he slumped forward, his team mate having broken a hole in his barricade to headshot him through.

It was later that night when Scout finally found his friend. After wandering the barracks and surrounding area aimlessly, people dodging or outright refusing to answer where Pyro was or what had happened, he finally happened across his friend in one of the last places he would have thought to look, especially since he'd already searched there - the infirmary.

Going up to the bed, he looked at the bonds holding Pyro with obvious confusion, the confusion turning to near panic when he didn't respond to his name being called. Reaching forward, he shook the man, who stirred only slightly under the thick blanket draped over his unconscious form. Looking around in the dim light, he blinked as he noticed the IV stand beside the bed, a slow-acting drip trailing from the bottom of the bag to the crook of his friend's arm. Hesitating, he pulled the feed out and settled down, waiting for answers.

It was only ten or fifteen minutes later that Pyro woke up, taking in a gasp of air as his eyes shot open, his movement to sit up hampered by the padded leather restraints around his wrists and ankles. After a moment of panic, he settled down, clearly noticing Scout. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "What're you doing up? It must be two in the morning or something." Glancing to the IV bag, his other eyebrow joined its companion in its upward climb. "You unhooked me, too."

"Uh … yeah," Scout said awkwardly, squirming in his chair. "I, uh, couldn't find ya anywhere, and nobody was talkin', so I came back here, but …" he trailed off, looking up to the ceiling. Starting over, he asked, "What the fuck happened? I remember an explosion and some other crap, but other th'n that -"

" - we were ambushed. I may or may not have gotten a bit too, ahem, _enthusiastic_ about getting the guys who did it. Sniper ended up taking me down." Scout blinked, physically taken aback. He fumbled for words, stumbling and stuttering until the Pyro cut him off with an amused laugh. "Go to sleep, Scout. You're going to need your rest for tomorrow. Alright?" Scout nodded, too stunned to really do or say anything else, and left. But instead of taking a left up the stairs to get to his room, he went downstairs.

He knew where he was going next, and it wasn't to his room.

He was going to go pay good old Snipes a visit.


	7. Dust Brawl

_My mommy had a surgery, which leaves little time to write - which means I'm gonna have to forfeit on NaNo this year : At least I wrote a lot! Anyways, here we go~_

_PS whoever realizes where the lame chapter name comes from gets a cookie :D And maybe a request. I'm just not bogged down enough, you see._

**Dust Brawl**

Sniper looked up quickly when he heard someone knock on his door. Frowning - he _never_ got company, let alone at this time of night - he tossed the towel he had been using to dry off from a midnight swim to the side. Grabbing the kukri on his camper's kitchen counter he went to the door and peeked out, blinking in surprise when he saw Scout outside.

"I know yer in there, ya moron!" he shouted, pounding on the door. Without the wrappings on his hands to protect them, it was easy to see that they were already bruising. Tossing the knife to the side Sniper opened the door and exited his vehicle, an eyebrow raised in obvious confusion.

"What's gotten into ya?" Before he could add one of his many nicknames for the jittery man in front of him, the Bostonian attacked, silencing him with a punch to the jaw. Sniper ploughed into the side of his van, the passenger side rear view mirror digging harshly into his ribs. Winded as he was, he still managed to fend off the raving American in front of him, who was slinging insults as fast as his fists. Knowing full well that being upright was not a good way to fight a Scout because he could easily be outmanoeuvred, Sniper tackled him to the ground, landing on a bony knee. Scout bashed his head up from under the Australian's jaw and the taste of blood flooded the marksman's mouth. He barely managed to get a chokehold on the still-cursing Scout, who continued to writhe and scream bloody murder. It was only when the initial adrenaline rush of being ambushed died down that the Sniper could understand his team mate's rambling.

"Ya fucking sonnuvabitch! Ya shot yer own team mate in the fucking head! I'm gonna claw one of yer precious fucking eyes out -" True to his word, Scout managed to wiggle loose a bit and reached up to do just that, Sniper saving his most needed sense by sitting up, his knee pressed firmly in the small of Scout's back. The lithe boy yelped in pain as his searching hand was seized at the wrist and the tendons in his wrist were jabbed by a blunt fingernail, making his entire arm go limp. The rest of his body soon followed, and not a moment too soon as a light in the Heavy's bedroom snapped on. Both men stayed perfectly still, the only sounds coming from their harsh breathing, until the Russian's curiosity was satisfied and he went back to bed. Finally, with the utmost care, Sniper asked, "Are ya 'bout calmed down yet?" A cloud of dust went up from Scout's exasperated exhale of breath.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." When Sniper failed to release him, Scout twisted, glaring up at him. "What? Ya don't believe me? C'mon, I ain't as stupid as ya think I am." At that Sniper let out a sigh and slowly stood, letting his comrade up. The compact man started to brush himself off in irritation, and Sniper made his second mistake of the night, the first one having been opening a door with a belligerent Scout on the other side.

Scout jumped on his back with a yell, wrapping his legs around the man's chest as he put him into a chokehold. Sniper reeled in shock, saving himself from falling face-first into the smouldering fire in the middle of his campgrounds by leaning back. He heard a crack and expected to feel some pain, but the limbs around him slackened instead. Whipping up and turning, let out a hiss of breath at the unconscious Scout in front of him and went to get the Medic.

The first thing Scout realized upon regaining consciousness was that despite a dull throb in the back of his head, he felt great, every fibre of his being tingling with energy. When he tried to move, however, lethargy took over, and that cloud extended to his brain as he blinked up at the tall, lean man standing by his door. With a yell he lurched forward, only restrained by the blinding stab of pain that distorted the world around him. Panting, he went to stand up, slowly this time, but Sniper stopped him with a shake of his head.

"Tha' won't be workin', mate," he said. At the Scout's puzzled look, he pointed to his left wrist. It took him a moment but the young man caught on and looked to his left, gritting his teeth as his foggy brain registered the handcuffs securing him to his headboard. A feral snarl set loose from his lips as he yanked at the offending restraint, his skin breaking within seconds. The Sniper was quick to act. Pinning the younger contractee to his bed, the lanky Australian quickly placed a hand over his mouth, silencing any obscenities sure to fly out of it. Leaning in close, he hissed, "The doc order ya t'be restrained. If ya don't calm down, I'll hafta nip down to his room and get him to tranq you. D'ya want that?" The grinding of teeth was his initial response, followed shortly afterwards by a nod. The Scout's eyes, usually so warm and bright, sent a shiver down the Sniper's spine at the absolute loathing in them. He slowly pulled back.

"What the Hell do you care, anyways? I mean, ya didn't seem too bothered 'bout shooting Pyro, ya bastard!" he fumed. At the Sniper's look, he settled down somewhat, the dark emotions lurking in his crystalline blue eyes clear as day. Sniper sighed, rubbing his eyes, one arm crossed over his stomach as his hand caught slightly on the five o'clock shadow on his chin, the scratching sound almost deafening in the silence. Eventually they locked gazes again of Sniper's volition, and the sharpness in Scout's eyes was gone in an instant at the bone-deep sadness in them.

"He ain't right in the head, that one. I won't say much, since I don't _know_ much, but … 'e's a Pyro through and through, and his love o'fire started long before he got this gig." Scout's stomach seemed to suddenly lack a bottom and he snapped his eyes away from the morose gaze of his comrade, breathing accelerating slightly. But Sniper wasn't done yet. "Fer some reason, he sees somethin' in ya that the rest of us don't, Scout. I've only been here three years, an' I'm not sayin' I don't have m'own flaws, but I can spot an unhealthy fascination a mile away. So … as yer team mate, I'm tellin' ya right now - steer clear of 'im." Met with silence, Sniper waited for a few moments. It became clear sooner rather than later that the Scout before him would take a long while to digest the information he had been provided with and would be best served doing it alone. He turned and left, jaw clenched slightly as a pang resonated in his chest at the borderline shattered look in Scout's eyes.

A lot of time passed as Scout's blue eyes remained fixed on a certain spot just out of sight, arms wrapped tightly around his drawn up knees. Despite how much the bruised ribs he was sporting hurt in such a position, he welcomed the pain as it anchored him. It let him know that this wasn't a dream, that the resident psychopath had singled him out. Because Pyro was reminded of himself. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the case. He thought back on his encounter with the RED Scout that had ended with brain matter splattered everywhere. He usually used his pent up frustration by running, or by playing baseball, even by getting into fights. But nothing like this had ever happened to him before. And the thing that got him most was how he had actually been, on some level, _thrilled_ by defending himself tooth and nail. Of emerging victorious.

But then he'd thought of his mother.

His mother was a sweet woman, but stern when she needed to be. Raising eight boys alone she had to be able to draw the line somewhere and hold her own in an argument, not that they ever got physical with her.

They'd seen their father raise a hand to her too many times.

Sighing, he unfolded himself, turning to inspect the handcuffs. Biting his lip to guard against any screams that might make someone come running, he slipped out of them, his hand a bit raw, but it only served as another anchor. As easy as it would have been to just curl up and go to sleep and forget this ever happened, he refused to. Instead he grabbed his bandages and went to indulge in some late night slash early morning boxing in the gym. As conflicted as he was at the moment about anything and everything to do with violence, it would help clear his head. It turned his stomach just thinking about it.

However, he managed to get to the gym - a basic room just big enough for a couple of people to brawl, they had a disused basketball hoop outside because their employers were too cheap to spring for one inside - without being detected. Whistling a tune his mother would hum to him and his brothers to soothe them, he secured the bandaging on his hands almost professionally. Bumping into someone, he yelped, going into a defensive stance, eyes wide as he took in the pinstriped suit. His mouth took a running start.

"Jesus man, I didn't see ya there, gimme a heart attack why …" Scout's speech slowed down as he took in the curves under said pinstripe suit. Staring in disbelief, he could do nothing else but complete his sentence. "… don't … you."

The Spy whirled, drawing his - her - gun. Her mouth was set into a tight line as she stared down the barrel of her perfectly lined up headshot. But Scout's mind - and eyes - were resting a bit lower than her face, mouth agape. He was then promptly pistol whipped, his vision going out as he was knocked out for the second time that night.


	8. Spooked

_My apologies for the belatedness of this chapter - another will be following at the very least on Saturday, as per the regular schedule! Promise!_

**Spooked**

Scout groaned, only aware of the splitting pain in his head and the roaring in his ears. He opened his eyes, only to hiss and squeeze them shut again at the invading light, fingers merely twitching because of an obvious lack of coordination. As the roaring eased into ringing, he began to hear people shouting, and for a moment he was transported back in time as two voices, one male and one female, washed over him, accents those of his native city. Then the illusion was gone, and he heard instead a French woman and an Australian man.

" - bloody git, knockin' 'im on th'ead, bin tossed fer one already tonight -"

"'e deserved it! And what is it going to do to 'im, make 'im lose brain cells?" The Spy snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. The Australian made a disgusted noise, waving at her dismissively.

"Y'coulda just left, Sheila. He'da just chalked it up t'somethin' else." Stooping down to sit on his haunches, Sniper looked over Scout, frowning slightly at the pronounced bump on the boy's skull and the caked blood there. "Won't do ya any good now, 'e's already wakin'. Oi, Scout, c'n ya hear me?" The Scout in question winced but gave a slight nod. "C'n ya walk?"

"Non, 'e can not," the Spy answered for him, cleaning her gun with a look akin to disgust at the crusted blood on it. Taking the pin-striped woman's words seriously, Sniper sighed.

"I'll get 'im to the Medic, then. His wrist is cut up pretty bad too. Prob'ly from the handcuffs." Scout let out a small squeak as Sniper lifted him up, swallowing as his racing heart slowly calmed down as it became clear to him that there would be no jostling to rattle his aching brain. In fact, he huddled closer, blocking the searing light out of his sensitive eyes by burrowing his face in Sniper's chest. The older man froze.

"My, my, Sniper," Spy said, holding back a laugh. Scout moaned again - her voice was _far_ too high. Sniper shot her a piercing look and she rolled her eyes but backed off, first verbally and then physically as she took a step back. "Alright, alright, mon cheri; I'll see you on Friday." The Spy's disguise kicked in and once again she was a dapper man. Tugging on a lapel to straighten it, she turned and left, Sniper walking in the opposite direction. Scout felt himself drifting off, only to be jerked back into wakefulness by Sniper harshly shaking him.

"Oi, don't be sleepin' on me, y'might not wake up'n the Doc wouldn't appreciate it one bit," Sniper chided him. Scout opened his bleary eyes after what seemed ages of effort, and it was only when they were out in the cool night air that he managed to gather his thoughts onto the tip of his tongue.

"You … knew," he said slowly, testing the waters. His own voice sounded harsh to his ears, but the harsh, all-consuming pain from before didn't return, so he continued, "Y'knew Spy's a chick." Sniper let out a soft exhale through his nose, easily balancing Scout to open the door into the main building. He couldn't help but giggle at the absurd picture they must make, but the borderline concerned look Sniper shot him had him quieting down quickly. Once he was sure that the slim boy in his arms was fine, Sniper responded.

"Yeah, I knew. We were stuck in the'med bay fer a while togethah, after an incident concernin' explosives 'n a baseball bat." Scout blinked, blue eyes wide in the welcome darkness. Sniper chuckled, the vibrations traveling through his chest along Scout's arm, returning some of the feeling to Scout's numb limbs. His sigh of relief was drowned out by Sniper adding, "Medic knows, obviously, same wit'Engie. 'E made the adjustments to her PDA so she could use that Spy disguise all th'time."

"Ah. So … you two sneakin' around for a reason?" Scout asked, voice pitched just a little oddly, his pulse picking up minutely. Sniper scoffed, opening the infirmary door easily.

"What, with that deranged woman? I've seen boxin' roos less mad'n her." Once inside, he ceased all conversation of a female-disguised-as-male-Spy and called out for the Medic, minding Scout's head as he put him down on the examination table.

"He's in his room," came a sleepy reply from one of the beds opposite them. It took a moment for either of the men to realize that it was in fact the nearly comatose Pyro who had spoken, his eyes drooping closed as an IV fed him sedatives. Scars and freshly made cuts alike criss-crossed on his wrists from where he had fought to get free, and Scout couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for his friend despite all he had been told.

" … I'll go get 'im," Sniper said, leaving the room in search of the elusive doctor. Once he had left, Scout slowly got to his feet despite his better judgement and shuffled slowly over to his friend's bedside, staggering only once or twice. Leaning against the bed, he gave the Pyro a small smile.

"Hey." Glancing to the half-empty bag and following the line down to the crook of Pyro's arm, he grinned. Pulling up a stool and leaning against the guard rail on the bed, he asked, "Ya think that they'll gimme some o'that stuff? You look stoned outta yer tree." Pyro chuckled slightly, a dopey grin easily slipping onto his face as he waved a limp hand dismissively, the padded restraints rattling loudly in the still night.

"If this stuff knocks me off my ass, it'll stop your heart. Shit could take down an elephant." He cracked a smile, trying to alleviate some of the worry clouding Scout's eyes, and smacked him lightly on the hand. "Hey. Lighten up." However, the fire-starting sociopath's eyes soon clouded with concern and then anger, going against his own advice when he surveyed the bruises littering his companion's arms and face. With surprising speed that had Scout questioning just how drugged he was, he snatched his arm by the wrist and moved it to trace a gentle, smooth-skinned finger over the scraped knuckles he found. Crisp green eyes sought out Scout's bright blue eyes, bloody murder written on his face. "Who did this?" he asked, quietly. When the Bostonian refused to answer, he shook him, nearly yelling, "Who did this?"

"I did." Pyro's glare snapped to Sniper, who had entered the room with their Medic in tow. Scout took the opportunity to snatch his hand away, and just in time as Pyro's hand took up a death grip.

"Did you now," he hissed. It took Scout a few moments to realize that the growling sound permeating the air was, in fact, coming from Pyro, and was a true growl. Noting this, Medic swept into action, taking a syringe and a bottle out of a drawer. Crossing the room while filling the needle, he scolded his patient.

"No getting vorked up, Herr Pyro. Youf had enough excitement for von day." Pyro shrank away, eyes narrowed.

"Come near me with that and I'll tear your jugular out with my teeth," he snapped. Realizing that this was actually a valid threat, Scout placed a hand on Pyro's shoulder, causing him to tense slightly before relaxing visibly.

"Just calm down, alright? I'm the one that went'n picked a fight with Sniper. I only really got hurt when I got out of the cuffs Doc ordered an' snuck inta the gym." A few more tense moments passed, Pyro's unwavering gaze on Medic, but he finally settled down with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. Medic shot Sniper a grim look that went unnoticed by either of the younger men in the room.

"Alright, alright," Pyro grumbled softly.

"And?"

"And what?" Pyro scoffed, glancing to his friend at the prompt. When a finger prodded him in the shoulder he sighed and rolled his eyes, glancing to Medic. "Sorry." Looking back at Scout, he asked, amusement hidden in his annoyed tone, "Happy?"

"Coulda said it like you actually mean it," Scout shot back. His eyes sparked with humour as Pyro snorted half-heartedly, and Sniper could see a half-grin on the side of his face hidden from view. Medic broke the silence by slamming closed a sticking draw, his hands now devoid of medication. A pointed but kind glance at the examination table nestled between the counters had Scout standing, a strong, course hand keeping him upright when he stumbled from vertigo. The German doctor watched, concern faintly creasing his forehead, already cataloguing his colleague's various injuries and their treatments. Scout, to his credit, tolerated Sniper's help until he got to the table, where he shoved the taller man away. "'m fine, Snipes. Jus' a lil dizzy." Despite the obvious scepticism of all in the room, he easily hopped up onto the flat surface, the paper crinkling under his weight.

"Vell, at least your balance seems to be returning," Medic said, wasting no time in stuffing a thermometer in Scout's mouth, which he had opened to protest he was feeling fine and they were all overreacting about a couple of hits on the head. Sniper chuckled at the look on the Bostonian's face as he glared at the offending object but tolerated it, wiggling it around. While he was busied by this, Medic took his wrist and began to measure his pulse, frowning at its slight elevation but paying it no mind. A quick check of the thermometer by moonlight and a pupil reaction test later, and Medic gave a small nod, a smile on his lips.

"Good, good. You vill haf a bit of tenderness for a vhile, sensitifity to light, but odder dan dat, eferding checks out." Scout shot Sniper a smug 'I told you so' look as Medic turned his back, Pyro chuckling. The German had soon returned from rooting through his cupboards, pressing a small bottle in Scout's hand. "Von efery dree or four hours, for de pain."

"Thanks, doc!" Scout said, hopping down. His grin widened as the room stayed stationary, and Medic slid his glasses back up his nose after nodding in approval.

"Now, go und get some rest. De bode of you," he said, casting a critical glance over the bags under the sleep-deprived Sniper's eyes. Sniper gave him a rough grunt in reply, grabbing Scout and steering him out of the infirmary, the kid managing to wave a hasty goodbye to his friend before being dragged out. Once the door had closed and locked behind them, Sniper let go of him, walking briskly off. Scout trotted to keep up with the leggy man.

"Hey! Oi, Snipes!" Hoping that diverting from the route that led to Scout's room, the Australian in question headed downstairs. However, Scout grabbed for his arm at just the right moment to send them to the floor, Sniper cursing as he quickly grabbed his injured team mate.

"Are ya _lookin'_ to get yerself inta coma?" he demanded, a death grip on the sides of Scout's head to prevent him from hitting it again. Scout let out a small laugh.

"What, worried? Dontcha worry, I been knocked around way more times'n that. Where'd ya learn t'fight like that?" Sniper blinked, put completely off balance by the grinning Scout in his lap. A quick shake of his head got him back on track as he gruffly pushed the youngest member of team BLU off of his lap.

"Never ya mind that, I should be the one askin' that question. Do ya know how 'ard it is ta look through a scope with a shiner?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry 'bout that. By the way, about Spy being a chick -"

"Tell anyone and she'll string ya up. Is that enough to keep yer big trap shut?" Sniper said, picking himself up. Scout got a thoughtful look on his face, and Sniper couldn't help but grimace slightly at that. From the short time he had known the Scout, he had quickly learned that the ideas he actually thought through were even worse than the ones he didn't.

"How 'bout ya teach me some of the stuff ya know? I mean, I ain't that hard to teach -"

" - as yer English teacher can attest," Sniper broke in smugly, turning to walk down the flight of stairs they hadn't fallen down. Scout carried on as if he hadn't even spoken, bouncing up with a wide grin to follow.

"I've been scrappin' since I was a little kid, an' my bros would die if I knew more'n them!" Sniper sighed, rubbing his eyes under his sunglasses. Despite the door that nearly slammed into Scout's face, he didn't get the hint to leave. "So, whaddaya say? C'mon, Snipes, be social fer once!"

Suddenly, Sniper's home came into view and he stopped, Scout letting out a puff of air as he ran straight into the older man's back. The Australian turned, looking annoyed beyond all belief. "Alright, alright, I'll teach ya, ya bloody twitchy hooligan! Now bugger off!" With that, he trotted into the camper and slammed the door, the entire structure shuddering. Scout blinked for a moment, at a loss for words, before letting out a whoop of joy and running off.

Inside the trailer, Sniper sighed, grabbing a beer from the rattling refrigerator before plunking down gracelessly on his bed. His logic was telling him that Scout, being as scatterbrained as the bullets in his shotgun, would quickly forget about the lessons. Another part of him - the part of him that was warming up to the cheerful Bostonian - told his logic to take a hike.


	9. Meltdown

_I apologize profusely for not keeping with my schedule. The truth of the matter is, I've been spending very little of my time at the computer, and when I do, it's on a single task that consumes all of my focus. But enough about that. After this one is posted, I owe you lot a grand total of four more chapters? Something like that._

_Once again, the first person to comment with where I got the title "Dust Brawl" from gets a oneshot. And, speaking of oneshots, I'll probably end up doing some for BBC's Sherlock Holmes. I'm somewhat reluctant to write anything other than that for it, not only because I can't keep to the schedule for one story, but because it hasn't finished yet and I don't like screwing around with canon all that much. I prefer tweaking things after the fact, thank you very much!_

_Okay, I'm done, enjoy the chapter! :3_

**Meltdown**

In the end, Sniper's logic didn't pan out. Scout faithfully showed up the next day, up before noon on a day with no scheduled game for once.

"Hey, Snipes," Scout said, the Australian jumping slightly from the sudden contact of Scout slinging his arm on the back of his lawn chair. Slamming his coffee cup down on the ground he stood, narrowing his eyes at the Bostonian and scrutinizing him. Impressively, the boy stood his ground, raising an eyebrow at Sniper before coming forward, sidestepping him to grab the newspaper.

"How th'Hell'd ya get a newspaper way out here?" he asked, flipping through the pages haphazardly, barely reading them. Sniper let out a long-suffering sigh and took the paper, hitting his new pupil upside the head with it.

"Rule numbah one," he said, holding up a bare finger, "Keep yer hands off m'stuff." Scout rolled his eyes, earning him another whack, this one sending his hat flying.

"Oi! Lay off, will ya?" he yelped, covering his now bare head with both hands. Sniper snorted, tucking the paper under one arm and disappearing into the camper. Like a scolded puppy Scout stayed where he was, crouching down with his hands tucked against his body against the chilly dawn air. Rattling could be heard from inside Sniper's home as he finished his morning routine. Unused to and unnerved by the silence, Scout called out, "Seriously, though - how'd ya get the paper?" He nearly jumped out of his skin as Sniper answered from directly behind him.

"Y'can put in requests ta get things," he said, pushing up the brim of his hat. A flicker of what Scout would have sworn to be amusement flashed through the taller man's eyes before disappearing behind a curtain of indifference. The Australian's voice snapped him out of his musings just in time to tune to hear the rest of the explanation. "Papers, movies, food -"

"You mean I can get some tacos?" Scout yelped, bolting upright. The look from mere moments ago flashed across Sniper's face once again, but this time he wasn't quick enough in getting rid of it. "Hey - don't laugh! Tacos are God's gift to man." Sniper snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, city boy. Now c'mon - we're burnin' daylight." Without giving the Bostonian another glance or any sort of signal, he headed off for the gym, a bag slung over his shoulder. Within a heartbeat Scout was following.

Sniper let out a grunt as an elbow found his ribcage. His hold faltered for only a moment, an unoppressible reaction to such a sharp hit, but the Scout proved quick to use his speed and small size to his advantage. Wriggling loose, the younger man sprung away, keeping light on his feet. Feinting to the left, Sniper used his knowledge of his colleague's behaviour to tackle him to the ground, Scout giving out a yelp of pain.

"Got ya, ya little blighter," he said around gasping breaths of air. Scout grunted from beneath him, using the arm pinned between them to push up.

"Ugh … man, are you big," he griped, flailing around half-heartedly to express his point. Sniper glared down at him, his sharp grey eyes without their sunshade covering for once. With a start, Scout realized that this was the closest he had ever gotten to the man, and the first time he could look directly in his eyes without the coloured shades distorting them. He blinked, and it seemed to be an eternity before he opened them again, could take in the rugged features of the man above him, could stare into those mesmerizing eyes once more. Another blink would mean another moment wasted, so he continued to stare, breath ghosting over his hyper-sensitive skin. Then, just as quick as the tackle which had put them in this position, Sniper sprung up. Scout was left partially off the floor mat, disoriented and obviously confused. A cough from the taller man snapped him out of it, at least partially.

"Trainin's ovah fer today," Sniper rasped out, grabbing his hat and sunglasses to quickly don them. Scout raised an eyebrow as he sat up, heart beat already back to its normal rhythm.

"Aw, c'mon! I ain't even breakin' a sweat over here!" Standing, the youth glared slightly at his teacher's retreating back. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" he added, walking briskly after him. A single glare from Sniper had him second guessing how wise following him would be, and he took a hesitant step back. It was soon followed by another, and another, and then he was nearly running into the change rooms to take a shower.

The pristine white-tiled locker room greeted him with a rush of cool air when he opened the swinging door. The lights flickered on - something that had thrown him for a loop when he first saw the motion-sensitive contraption in action - and he kicked dropped his shirt beside his already discarded sneakers and socks. While he hadn't thought it was necessary when they first started to shuck them, he was glad now that Sniper had insisted.

"Yikes," he mumbled, catching his reflection in a swath of near-black blue tile on the floor. Bruises littered his skin, and he winced as he rolled his shoulders. Yeah, he was starting to feel everything now that his adrenaline had run dry.

"Knock knock."

Scout bolted upright, fingers twitching as if looking to grasp a baseball bat or gun. However, they found only air, and he let out a sigh of relief when he realized it was Pyro in the doorway leading out to the gym and not Spy making sure that her secret remained, well, secret. Biting his tongue, he turned his back to the other male, trying to ignore the discomfort that seemed to be creeping into the room.

"Hey, Pyro." He barely checked the nervousness he was feeling before it crept into his tone, but he managed, shooting Pyro his trademark grin over one shoulder despite the flash of pain it caused. The small smile Pyro had been carrying faded in response to this, and he took a step forward.

"You're hurt," he muttered, bright honey-brown eyes obscured by a cloud of worry. Scout laughed as Pyro came to a halt behind him, and he began to unwrap the bandaging on his hands. He was more than a little startled when he felt a warm hand on his back, almost caressing a knee-shaped bruise there. He's frozen - a part of him can not help but laugh at the fact that a _Pyro_'s touch has him in such a state - and then he's whirling around and backing away.

"Whoa whoa whoa, there. Personal space," he said, not missing the look of hurt in his friend's eyes at the rebuke. Settling his hands in his pockets, he shrugged. "Snipes'n'me were going at it." A flash of anger spiked in Pyro's eyes, and Scout could swear that the room temperature dropped ten degrees instantly. But he was too busy with damage control as he grabbed the retreating Pyro's arm, keeping him from running off to tear Sniper limb from limb. "It's nothin', we were training is all." Pyro let out a sigh, closing his eyes, the tenseness all throughout his body fading, though only slightly.

"Are you telling me that because it's the truth, or because you know it'll calm me down?" he asked, using the mirror-like floor to sneak a look at Scout, who let out a small laugh.

"If I told ya I did, ya'd run off anyways." Pyro's own lips quirked up in a small smile.

"Guess I'm just a little overprotective," he admitted, frowning a little as Scout's hand retreated.

"Seems like we're in the same boat there." The smile was back at Scout's comment, and Pyro suddenly remembered what he had tracked down his team mate for. He swallowed slightly, but otherwise kept up his façade as he turned.

"Yeah. Guess so," Pyro responded. A small, awkward silence ensued, Pyro's eyes drifting anywhere and everywhere that didn't show the blossoming bruises on Scout's body. Unable to take it anymore, he blurted out, "We're a lot alike, you know." Scout raised an eyebrow at him, for once not running into a conversation without knowing what to say. Pyro coughed, looking away. "I mean, we're the youngest people here. It's … nice. Having someone my own age around. I mean, there's a gap, obviously, but -" He was silenced by a hand squeezing his shoulder, concerned blue eyes boring into his slightly panicking green.

"Look, babblin's my department, alright? Just spit out whatever it is ya wanna say - I ain't gonna bite."

"I wish you would." Pyro froze, kicking himself mentally. Seeing the wary look on Scout's usually carefree face, he quickly added, "Then I'd know how the Hell to react. I mean, someone picks a fight with you, you defend yourself. You … you're different. You're, um, nice to me." Scout blinked. Hoping to drive the point home, Pyro stepped a bit closer, and he could not help but let his grin spread when the young Bostonian didn't move to get away. Continuing with his eyes trained on the ceiling, gesturing with his hands to illustrate his point, he said, "I turn off most people. Even … even before I came here. But, even though I can be kind of weird, and, uh, certain people tell you it's better not to go near me …" He dropped his gaze, needle pricks covering his skin as he took in the soft tilt of the curious Scout's head. "By now, you - you already know that … that I've done things in the past. That, uh, I'm not really … stable. Even after all these years."

"Like you torturin' that RED Sniper," Scout admitted. Pyro swallowed, looking at his feet. "But I get it. I mean, _I'm_ the one who went apeshit on the Sniper from _our_ team because he shot you. And that wasn't even when respawn was on." Pyro grinned, and Scout reciprocated, though somewhat awkwardly.

"See? Like I said - we're a lot alike." He moved closer again, and now their chests were brushing, Scout taking a small step back only to be trapped by the wall. Leaning forward, his arms braced on either side of Scout, he whispered, "I can see it. The anger in your eyes when you fight. I have it, too."

Scout's eyes widened, and he swallowed, on the verge of panic. He let out a small laugh, the usually cheerful sound falling flat even on his ears. He licked his lips nervously, not liking the borderline predatory, almost hungry look on the face of the man in front of him. He scrambled to think of something to say, what to do, and he got as far as opening his mouth, no sound coming out. His thoughts simply refused to line up properly, and then his mind totally blanked out as Pyro placed on hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder. Then the black-haired pyromaniac added his lips as a point of contact.


	10. To All the Single Laddies

_I'm sorry about the lack of updates - I've been suffering through a writer's block, I'm sad to say. Couple this with increasing time away from the computer, and you have over two months without an update. Go me!_

**To All the Single Laddies**

After a few moments, Scout was shocked into action by a nibbling on his bottom lip. Recoiling violently, the taste of blood blossomed in his mouth as his teeth sliced through his tongue. Pyro was hurled backwards, and he stood several feet away for a few moments, shaking visibly. Scout brought a hand to his mouth, sliding in a dazed heap to the floor. He didn't even notice Pyro leave, his stumbled apology, the passage of time - he just sat there. Eventually, his peace was intruded upon by a whistling that ended abruptly with the clang of a heavy toolbox being dropped on tile. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled to his feet as the Engineer quickly talked to him, trying to assess his situation. The Texan soon determined that he wouldn't be getting an answer, so he led the youngster out of the locker room.

After a few minutes - it was slow going with Scout in this state, and Engie was beginning to show visible signs of worry and borderline panic at the Bostonian's lack of reaction to anything - they arrived at the medical bay. The chattering going on inside as Medic did paperwork and Heavy tended to Sasha abruptly ended when Medic laid eyes on his young patient. Standing quickly, he very nearly tripped over his own feet, yelling to Heavy to get off the exam table as Engineer explained the minimal amount he knew about Scout's condition. The gentle giant, having already done so, stood out of the way and watched on in concern.

"Danke, Herr Engineer," Medic said, by way of dismissal. The bald man made as if to argue half-heartedly, but instead he sighed and scratched his head, one hand knotted into the fabric of his overalls as he left. Before his footsteps had even faded Medic was busy checking Scout over.

"Herr Scout - Herr Scout. Vhat happened?" he asked gently, shining a light into the boy's eyes. Scout blinked, actually looking at the German doctor for the first time since being led to his clinic. He looked around silently, and Medic explained, "Engineer found you in de locker room. You vere unresponsife. Did you hit your head again?"

"Huh? Oh, no, uh, not that. Just … zoned out, I guess." Scout let out a weak chuckle, trying to avert his eyes. Medic frowned but didn't press the issue right away. Instead, he stood and took out his Medigun. Scout gave a small sigh as the beam hit him and he leaned back, eyes closed as he faced the window and the strong sunlight filtering through it. "Thanks doc." Swallowing, he stood, still looking anywhere but at the other two occupants of the room. "I'll, uh, just be on my way."

Before Medic could even open his mouth to ask another question, he was gone.

After a quick stop to his room to retrieve some new clothes, a bat, and some baseballs, he headed towards the roof. Once he got his foot on the first stair he hesitated. _Pyro_ had shown him the roof. It was where he went to think, which meant he might be up there already. A voice in the back of his mind asked him that, even if that wasn't the case, did he _really_ want to go somewhere that reminded him of things he was not thinking about? In the end, he went downstairs. And he walked.

Around noon, Sniper stretched out on his lawn chair, arms behind his head as his midday meal cooked over the open fire. He didn't notice a certain white ball hurtling towards him until it hit him square in the stomach.

"Outta the park!" Scout hollered, his voice reverberating in the forest. His exclamation fell on deaf ears as Sniper doubled over in pain, his breath thoroughly knocked out of him. After a few moments he stood, glaring in his colleague's general direction.

"Ya bloody hooligan," he wheezed out, not yet recovered. Scout appeared a few moments later, whooping at how far he had managed to hit his ball - until he saw Sniper with it. Letting out a small laugh and a strained smile, he tried to snatch it back, only to have it held just out of his grasp by the much taller man.

"C'mon! Give it t'me!" the Bostonian whined. Sniper froze for a moment during which Scout snatched back the elusive item with a cry of triumph, the senior turning back to his meal.

"What d'ye want?" Scout blinked, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder at the gruff tone.

"Me? Uh, nothin', honest. Just passin' through," he stammered out. Sniper stood, the smell of the food wafting over Scout. Much to his embarrassment, his traitorous stomach let out a deep gurgling growl, announcing how it had yet to be fed after the sparring match almost half a day earlier. Sniper gave him a cursory glance at the sound, and Scout was sure he was going to be yelled at from the look on his face but he was just tossed a bag of jerky.

"G'on, ye'll waste away t'nothin' they way ya run 'round," the marksman explained, heading into his camper. When the door slammed shut behind him, Scout just gave a shrug and plunked down on the ground, happily tucking into the food. By the time Sniper returned a few minutes later, the bag was almost empty. Raising an eyebrow, he sat in the lawn chair he had occupied previously, a fresh beer in hand and his food on a plate. "Din't think ya'd like roo jerky tha'much," he said idly. Scout froze, slowly looking at the food in his hand before letting out a shriek and jerking backwards to fall over the tree trunk he had leant against, the bag left on the ground. Sniper raised an eyebrow with obvious wonderment at the other's reaction before sitting back to wait for the evening entertainment. Scout did not disappoint.

First he started off with waving his hands in front of himself, making small strained squeaking noises in the back of his throat. His eyes were wide, jaw slack, and Sniper was reminded of a ventriloquist's dummy doing a pantomime. Finally, he let out a strangled yell that some part of the Australian's mind managed to translate as "you fed me a freakin' _kangaroo_". Putting his empty plate to the side, Sniper chuckled.

"Yeah. Oi wasn't kiddin' when Ah said that they'd get ya what ya want. Wi'in reason, o'course."

"An' – an' jerky made from _kangaroos_ is within reason?" Scout shouted, but Sniper could tell the young man was winding down from the way his shoulders had begun to relax. "Dude, _so_ not cool!"

"What, y'ave a pet roo when ya were growin' up or somethin'?" he asked. Scout's cheeks took on a slightly red tint and he slumped down against the tree once more, his back to the Sniper. Curiosity piqued, he stood and rounded the tree to find Scout hunched up with his arms wrapped almost protectively around his drawn up legs. He stood there awkwardly and was, quite frankly, surprised when the Bostonian replied with a muttered, "M'Dad gave me one when I was a little kid, alright?" Another, though smaller, silence reigned.

"Oh," Sniper said, finally breaking the silence. Taking off his ever present hat, he rested it on his waist and scratching the back of his head. Staring at the horizon he eventually said in an off-hand tone of voice, "Ne'er really got on with m'old man." Scout let out a self-depreciating laugh.

"He didn't really gimme a chance. He … well, he left. When I was five. Left m'Ma to raise me'n m'brothers all alone." Biting his lip, he glanced in the opposite direction of Sniper who donned his hat again and cleared his throat.

"So …" he drawled. Scout shifted slightly at the prompt to show he had heard but otherwise remained unresponsive. "Y'don't really throw all tha' hard, y'know." He hid a grin as Scout immediately bristled, eyes snapping up to glare at him. He stood fluidly, almost appearing to be without bones as his lithe body slowly unfolded.

"Now, ya listen to me, chucklenuts, I ain't gonna take crap from _nobody_, 'specially a skeletal bushman," he spouted off, immediately on the defensive and back to his old self. Sniper could barely hide the smile on his face but somehow managed to keep his amusement out of his tone.

"Really now. Well, how 'bout this - you name a target, _any_ target, and I'll hit it dead on." Scout seemed to mull this over for a moment before grinning. Sniper found himself unable to stop his smile from spreading in response.

"Well then - how 'bout you try and hit one'a m'pitches?" Scout asked, producing a baseball seemingly out of thin air. Sniper nodded, trying to look serious.

"Game on, then," he said, Scout giving him a delighted laugh at the use of his pre-match catch phrase before jetting off and leaving Sniper in relative peace to grab his gun.

The night was beginning to drag on when Scout casually voiced a hypothetical question that would throw Sniper completely off balance - what would you do if your best friend kissed you but you didn't like them that way? Sniper stared at Scout, who tried - and failed - to remain calm with his eyes all but glued to the small black and white TV they were watching in the camper. Clearing his throat, the younger of the two shook his head. "Just forget I said anythin'." Nodding, the Australian went back to watching the movie, taking up one side of the narrow bed. About ten minutes of thinking later, he went to grab a handful of popcorn and respond to his colleague's question to find he was asleep. Smiling with a softness most wouldn't believe the highly efficient marksman was capable of, Sniper rose, placing the bowl of popcorn beside the TV, which he turned off.

After several minutes, he found himself watching Scout peacefully sleeping and snapped himself out of it, busying himself by covering his companion to ward off the chilly night air. Before he realized it, however, he was brushing a stray strand of hair - the boy would have to get it cut soon, even with his hat on it sometimes impeded his vision - out of his face. He started to hurriedly draw away but froze when Scout unconsciously followed the comforting hand, mumbling something softly in his sleep. He stood there, frozen, for a moment until the Bostonian rolled over and curled up, looking perfectly at home.

He needed a smoke.

Grabbing the nearly spent pack out of his vest, he had a cigarette to his lips and was about to light it before his gaze dropped back onto Scout. Shaking his head, he strode over to where he kept his bow and arrows, putting the unstrung weapon in its accompanying quiver and slinging it over his back before grabbing a six-pack from the loudly humming fridge. He stepped outside, carefully making sure that the rickety door was closed without the usual slamming it required, and was about to light up when a lighter appeared in front of his cigarette. He only had to see the elegant, glove-covered hand holding it to confirm who it was.

"Spy," he acknowledged, thumbing up the lip of his hat as he nodded to her. She responded with an admonishing sound as she simultaneously replaced his lighter in his pocket and took away the case of beer hanging loosely from his hand. Straightening, she absentmindedly brushed invisible dust from the front of her suit and stemmed the flow of his complaint by reminding him of an instance not so long ago that saw him drunk in the woods with the Huntsman, passed out with an arrow through one foot and another through his kidney. The good Medic was still perplexed as to how the second injury had happened, though.

"Ya worry 'bout me too much," Sniper said, though the usual almost teasing undertone that his voice usually held on occasions such as this was missing. Sighing, the Spy traded him the alcohol for the Huntsman, carefully placing the quiver and its contents against the trailer.

"Zis is because of ze boy, isn't it," she said, staring up at the sky. Beside her, Sniper did the same, silently rejecting the offer of council. Instead, they remained in a companionable silence, the only sounds that of cans being opened and cigarettes being lit as the hours wore on.


End file.
